


Secret Santa

by eyebrowsatlarge



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Holdiay Parties, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Other, Secret Santa, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebrowsatlarge/pseuds/eyebrowsatlarge
Summary: You were going to kill Queenie Goldstein. You were going to kill her, and no one would ever find her body. She had been the instigator of some sort of ridiculous Secret Santa exchange in the office, which wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t certain that she’d somehow rigged the drawing of names to give you Percival Graves.





	1. Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! This can also be read on my Tumblr [here.](http://eyebrowsatlarge.tumblr.com/post/154888996292/can-you-write-a-graves-x-reader-fic-where-the)

You were going to kill Queenie Goldstein. You were going to kill her, and no one would ever find her body. She had been the instigator of some sort of ridiculous Secret Santa exchange in the office, which wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t certain that she’d somehow rigged the drawing of names to give you Percival Graves. You didn’t know how it was possible (other than by subterfuge, of course) for you to have drawn his name out of everyone in the department. Queenie assured you that she had no idea what you were talking about, but you knew better than to believe that. You suspected that it was part of a plot to get the pair of you together (she was well aware of your feelings where Mr. Graves was concerned), but you knew there was no way it could work. The chances of Graves realizing hidden feelings for you were slim to none, in your opinion, even if it was Christmas. That sort of thing just didn’t happen in real life.

So now you were stuck trying to decipher Graves’s interests based mostly on the impeccably written little card Queenie had provided to you when you drew his name. The list was as follows: scarf, self-heating mug, vase of no-wilt flowers. You raised an eyebrow when you read it, wondering if it was possible that Graves somehow knew you would get him and was just trying to screw with you. If it were not for the alleged randomness of the drawing, you might have started to believe it. After thinking it over, you decided you’d knit him a scarf. He’d appreciate that, you’d determined. The only trouble was that you’d never knit anything in your entire life.

You made it to office Christmas party, your best scarf attempt in hand even though it was mediocre at best, and made a beeline for the refreshment table. You’d hoped that there was going to be something a little stronger than giggle water, but no such luck. You drank your glass in one swallow and let out an involuntary laugh that became a shout of surprise as someone tapped you on the shoulder. You whirled around to find Graves standing behind you with a small, silver wrapped package in his hand and a smirk on his face.

“Mr. Graves, you startled me,” you said, letting out an irritated puff of air. His smirk grew.

“I could tell.” He held out the gift. “I know this is meant to be secret, but I expect you’d guess that it was from me without too much trouble.”

You blushed lightly and took the small package from him, trying not to think of how his fingers lingered on yours during the exchange. Of course he’d gotten you.

“Thank you. I think Queenie must have had some ulterior motives.” You held up the parcel containing his scarf. “This is for you.”

He took the gift gingerly, the corner of his mouth quirking up appreciatively.

“It’s a little lumpy, and I think the tassels are uneven, but I hope you like it.”

He tore into the paper and withdrew your creation. He studied it for a moment before looking at you with a smile.

“It’s lovely.” He hung the lopsided dark green scarf around his neck, smiling wider. You hated yourself just a little bit for how your knees went weak when he smiled at you like that, but you couldn’t help but smile back.


	2. New Year's Resolutions

You’d been staring at that gorgeous, silver wrapped box for days. You’d been about to open it at the party, but Percival (it felt so odd to call him that, even in your head) had been called away before you could and now you were left trying to decide if you should open it without him. Was it acceptable to open a gift in the absence of the giver? Not if the giver was as readily accessible as Mr. Graves was to you. Although you supposed an exception could be made in the case of a Secret Santa situation. Technically, you weren’t even supposed to know it was from Percival at all. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to open the gift. When you’d gotten home from the party, you had set it on your coffee table, and there it had sat for a full week.

Somehow you had managed to avoid speaking to Percival for that entire week. You’d seen him in passing (he was still wearing your scarf, and you couldn’t help but smile every time you saw it), but you hadn’t had to actually talk to him until today. He’d been chatting with one of the other aurors when he saw you walk past and dashed after you, catching your arm to stop you from walking away. You turned to face him, and he smiled.

“I’ve gotten quite a few compliments on my new scarf, you know.”

You snorted. “I’m sure you have. Was there something you needed, Mr. Graves?” You weren’t really trying to be short with him, but his smile faltered slightly and you instantly felt a little bit bad.

“I just wondered if you had opened your gift yet.”

You fidgeted a little, feeling even worse.

“Er, no. I just…wasn’t sure if I should open it without you.” He raised an eyebrow, and you shrugged. “I don’t know proper etiquette for gifts given just before the giver is whisked away to save Wizarding America.”

He chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You fidgeted some more, and then burst out with, “Perhaps you could come to my place, then?” His eyebrows shot up at that, and you realized how it sounded. “I mean, if you don’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, you could stop in for a bit and I could open my gift.” You were blushing, you could tell, but he was smiling.

“That sounds lovely. Would ten o’clock be too late to call? Madame President has a few matters for me to attend to that may keep me here longer than necessary.”

You chuckled. “No, ten would be fine. I intend to be awake when the clock strikes midnight.”

With that you parted, but not before you scribbled down your address in the notebook you carried and ripped out the page for him. It wouldn’t do for you to make such plans and not have him actually know where you live.

Later, you were back to starting at the box. You had no idea what it could possibly have in it. You’d been fairly generic in your description of your interests, so it could really be anything.

At ten o’clock sharp, there was a knock at your door. You shot to your feet and yanked the door open to find a smiling Percival standing on the other side.

“Hello,” you greeted, hoping you didn’t sound _too_ breathless.

“Hello.” He stepped inside as he took off his gloves, stuffing them in the pocket of his coat before hanging said coat on one of the hooks by the door. You stared at it for a moment, liking the way his things looked next to yours, and then looked back to him.

“Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid it’s water, unless you like firewhiskey.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think firewhiskey could be in order, don’t you? It _is_ New Year’s Eve, after all.”

You nodded, wondering what in the name of Deliverance Dane you’d gotten yourself into by inviting Percival Graves to your house, and went to the kitchen to pour the pair of you a drink. When you returned to the living room, you discovered that Percival had availed himself of your sofa and was looking at your gift in amusement.

“Has this been here since that night?”

You nodded and reached out to hand him his glass. His fingers brushed lightly over yours as he took it from you, and you resisted the urge to swoon.

“Honestly, I keep looking at it to try to decide if I should open it.”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you open it now?”

You perched yourself on the sofa beside him, trying to ignore the way your leg was pressed against his, and picked up the small parcel from the coffee table. Your gaze was fixed on the gift, but you could feel his eyes on you as you pulled off the paper and opened up the box within.

What lay inside was a gorgeous silver bracelet that looked like it was made of snowflakes. You gasped at the sight of it, knowing that it _definitely_ exceeded the dollar limit that had been imposed on all Secret Santa gifts. Percival just smiled and took the box from you, taking out the bracelet and putting it on your wrist. His fingers on your wrist made your heart pound, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the bracelet.

“Mr. Graves, it’s beautiful. Oh my, it must have cost you a fortune.”

“I’m glad you like it. You should know, it’s charmed to the wearer at the perfect temperature, no matter the weather.” He paused and looked at you fondly. “Oh, and do call me Percival.”


	3. Happy New Year

After the whole ‘call me Percival’ bit, the evening had gone quite a bit more smoothly than you could have hoped. The pair of you had drank about half a bottle of firewhiskey between you, and you were starting to feel a little looser.

Percival, it seemed, was feeling quite loose. You could tell because he had loosened his tie and taken off his jacket, leaving him in his shirt and waistcoat. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and a few pieces of his perfectly slicked hair had fallen into his forehead. You longed to reach out and brush them back and a few more sips of firewhiskey might have just given you the gumption.

You opened your mouth to say something to him (you couldn’t quite put the sentence together in your head, but it was something to do with his hair), but he suddenly pulled out his pocket watch and made a very serious sounding noise. You frowned.

“What’s that for?”

He hummed curiously and looked at you. “Telling time, of course.”

You snorted. “No, I mean why do you want to know the time?”

He fixed you with a look that made you wonder if you were missing something obvious and then said, “It’s New Year’s. A minute to midnight, actually. Good thing I checked.”

You nodded sagely.

“Good thing. It’s bad luck not to toast at midnight.”

His eyes widened a little.

“Maybe that’s why I have such bad luck. I never toast. But then, I usually spend New Year’s alone.” You frowned, reaching out to pat his cheek in a way you hoped was somewhat consoling. His hand came up to catch yours and you stared at him, relishing the feeling. “Will you kiss me?”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“What, now?”

“At midnight.”

Your mouth hung open for a moment in shock before you closed it, nodding.

“Sure.”

He looked at his watch again.

“Just a few seconds now.”

He scooted closer to you and your free hand went to his other cheek. Your foreheads were almost touching, and you could feel his breath on your lips. A second later, the clock struck midnight somewhere in your apartment and then his mouth was on yours and your brain turned to mush.

He pulled away far too soon, but he didn’t move away. He kept your foreheads pressed together as you both tried to catch your breath.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he said after a moment. You smiled.

“You could have said so.”

He chuckled softly. “Can I do it again?”

You nod, unable to keep from breaking into a grin as he immediately steals another kiss.


End file.
